2007-06-08
the lost (on me) art of flirtation
|I am a terrible flirt. In case you are misinterpreting that, let me clarify. I am not good at flirting. I don't speak fluent "flirt" and most of the time I don't understand it either. It truly is a wonder I ever got married. This comes up because I was at Webmiss' site and she was asking for tips regarding a flirting situation. Go, comment on her site, and come back here.
Let me give you an example. But first you need a little bit of background. Throughout high school I was the quiet chick who kind of existed on the fringes. In college I broke out a little bit, but basically I am the type of person who does much better one-on-one, rather than working the crowd. It's still that way today. When I am at the park with my kids, I cannot seem to infiltrate a group of mothers who are there together. But another mother on the sidelines I can chat up with no problem.
Perhaps for this reason, I tend to befriend society's "not so mainstream." I don't pick up freaks, but the person who is being shunned because he or she is shy or not socially cool is the person I say hello to. I'm sure it taps into my own feelings of insecurity, not being the cool kid, what have you.
So about 13 years ago I worked in corporate America with the business attire, voice mail, etc. There was a 20-something guy who worked in the mail room who was so nice and very social. He was also at least 100 lbs. overweight. Even though he was social, most people didn't really talk to him. I thought that was wrong and he and I struck up a work friendship. (I was married and not interested romantically; he was single and not interested romantically.)
Anyway, over the course of a year or so both he and I happened to get a HealthRider exercise machine. This was way back, when the HealthRider was a strange contraption that made you push your feet forward while your arms came toward your stomach, then your arms were pushed forward while your feet came back. It did make you work up a sweat, but I've never seen another exercise machine like it. A treadmill it is not. Hence, its decline in popularity. But I digress.
This guy, Steve I think his name was, lost 100+ lbs. over the course of a year by using the HealthRider and lifting weights. He became quite a buff young thing. Still, I saw him as the nice guy he originally was. Now that he was a strapping young buck his outgoing personality really worked to his advantage and he started to date a blue streak throughout the company.
Once a week or so he would tell me about his conquests and, I, like his mother, would tell him to be careful not to catch something he wouldn't want to talk about. He also shared his frustration over people at work who originally would have nothing to do with him because of his size, but now were falling all over his biceps. My impression of this friendship was benign and motherly on my part, seeing as I was married and a couple of years older than him. He was always very polite around me and never made unwanted advances. I felt like I was one of the guys around him even though I always wore a skirt and heels.
So one day he tells me he has a crush on a woman at work. And I say, "Tell me, tell me! Who is it?" And he says, "No, it's just a crush. Plus she's married." So that little tidbit (married) just made me want to know more. Who is she?!
For the next month or two I would always ask him to tell me, adamantly swearing his secret was safe with me. He would just smile and said no. Then eventually he quit the mailroom and I never saw him again.
It took me a good three or four years to understand that I was his secret crush. Duh. I told you I was no good at flirting. I think now that he must have thought I was such a clueless dumbass. What I am is a gossip. I worked and worked at getting that little piece of info from him and would throw out names every time I saw him in the hallway.
Ugh, when I think of how I kept trying to figure out who it was, I do feel like a blind dork. He must have had a good laugh at me behind my back. Or in front of my face, seeing as I didn't pick up on the clues.
No, my husband doesn't have to worry about me having an affair. I think I am affair-impaired.
Sending out a thank you: I'm sending an extra 1000 strides on the elliptical trainer to dulligirl who added me as a favorite recently. Thanks Dulli!
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2007-06-08 at 6:28 a.m.
